


His Eyes Are Greener

by SnowyWolff



Series: High School Shenanigans [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Also dumb teenagers being exactly that, Alternate Universe - High School, An attempt at text speech is made, Artist!Romano, Casual mentions of weed, Chubby!Spain, From model to friends to boyfriends by the end of it, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 07:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16739842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyWolff/pseuds/SnowyWolff
Summary: Lovino Vargas, junior high schooler, awkward teenager and self-proclaimed struggling artist, had been trying to find an art style, or even a movement, that truly captured his attention. That was until he met Antonio (and his stupidly green eyes) and a new urge for portraiture arose. Though it took Lovino a party and an unholy amount of alcohol for there to be any progress at all, really.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was initially planning to finish this in its entirety before posting it, but then it accidentally became a lot longer than anticipated and I just want this out there. I can’t promise regular updates or anything, but yeah, hope you’ll enjoy!

Lovino was used to feeling too much, too fast. Thoughts, emotions, memories, they all seemed to always be at war in the small confinements of his brain. That was why he painted. It gave him an out.

Currently, he was experimenting with action painting, in particular the drip technique. And, by God, it was so very satisfying. There was no need to think, no premeditating, just Lovino, the brush, the paint and the canvas. Chaos confined to the paper.

He stared at the canvas as his feet, spread over the carpet. Tubes of paint and brushes littered around the room. Lovino forgot to put down a tarp, so he would be scolded later for all the dollops of paint that made the floor its own painting. Not that he cared too much, and he knew his grandfather didn’t mind it too much in favour of encouraging artistic talent.

_Perhaps_ , he thought and poised the thick paintbrush above a pot of magenta. Red felt right, so he mixed it with yellow until he got the deepest red. He paused above the canvas and flicked his fingers against the brush.

Small drops like blood fell onto white, staining the little bit of purity the canvas still had.

_Good_.

Perfection was overrated anyway.

***

A soft knock on the door and Lovino scrambled over art supplies to turn the lock. He glanced through the slant of space he allowed it to open and scowled at his brother.

“I have tea,” Feliciano offered with a smile, holding up the tray a little higher.

Lovino scrutinized him a little longer before relenting and opening the door further. “All right. Watch the floor.” He cleared a path to his bed, pushing paints and brushes aside, mourning a particularly large blot where he had dropped a used paintbrush earlier.

Feliciano said nothing as he carefully manoeuvred around to the bed. His eyes roved over Lovino’s newest creation curiously, however.

He waited until Lovino dropped back onto the bed before he placed the tray on the checkered bedsheets, years of practice having taught the disaster of tea and cake stains. Perching on the edge of the bed, he poured the tea and added two sugar cubes to Lovino’s mug.

Lovino had already snatched one of the plates, but now poked the chocolate cake with his fork absently, his eyes straying to the painting on the floor.

Feliciano followed his gaze and took in the overwhelming colours. It wasn’t often that Lovino painted using bright colours, but when he did it was often associated with his emotions taking a turn for the worse. Feliciano never liked it when his brother’s emotions took a turn for the worse.

“It looks grand,” Feliciano said, sipping his tea.

Lovino’s eyes snapped back to him, then down to the cake in his lap. He mulled over the words for a while, slowly decimating the cake into crumbles. He took a bite, then placed the plate back on the tray.

“Grand?” he questioned slowly.

Feliciano hummed, glancing around quickly at the smatterings of yellow, orange, pink and the ominous drops of red through the white. “It’s big, emotional… a bit overwhelming.” Feliciano laughed softly. “But it’s also very bright and, even though I don’t quite understand the style, I think it’s beautiful.”

Lovino snorted and reached for his tea. “It was just an experiment.”

Feliciano tried to hide his smile behind his teacup. Experiment or not, Feliciano knew when his brother was fascinated with something new. If this could be the way for him to release all those pent-up emotions, then Feli was certain that Grandpa would forgive the stains in the carpet.

“Art is art, Lovi,” Feliciano said. “And beautiful is beautiful. No matter.”

“You’re so cheesy.” Lovino rolled his eyes, but could not quite manage to quell his smile.

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” Lovino admitted softly. “I do.”

***

Their grandfather did indeed forgive Lovino for the stains, instantly drawn to Lovino’s creation instead. He muttered something about meaning and colour theory and how it reminded him a lot of his deceased wife. Normally, the last bit was accompanied by a sad smile, but this time, his eyes were bright and he ruffled Lovino’s hair lovingly.

“Kid, I’m so proud of you,” he said fondly. “Can we hang it in the living room?”

Lovino flushed, slapping at his grandfather’s hands. “Why?”

“Because I like it! And it gives me something to brag about next time Sofia comes over! I have the best grandsons after all!”

“I don’t think that’ll get you in her good graces at all, Grandpa,” Feliciano said. “’S not romantic.”

Romulus laughed. “Now, now, Feli. What would you know of romance?”

“Enough!” Feli puffed his chest, grinning as his brother rolled his eyes. “More than Lovino probably!”

“Hey!”

Romulus nodded gravely, placing a heavy hand on his elder grandson’s shoulder. “Feli has a point, my dear boy. When will the time come you’ll bring some lovely boy over here, hm?”

“Oh, my God, Grandpa.” Lovino buried his head in his hands. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“No need to me shy, Lovi.” Romulus grinned. “It’s perfectly all right. The Vargas charms works both ways.”

Feliciano burst out laughing as Lovino rubbed his face tiredly, blushing furiously.

“I hate this family,” he muttered.

Romulus patted his cheek before pulling him in a hug, Feliciano jumping on the opportunity as well.

“We love you too, Lovi,” he chirped as Romulus wrapped his arm around him as well, nuzzling his grandsons.

“You’ve both grown so much.” He grasped their shoulders and squeezed. “Soon you’ll be graduating and then off to university and you’ll be moving out.” He sighed. “I remember when you two only reached my knees, asking me for piggyback rides and bedtime stories.”

Lovino and Feliciano shared a look, and then Feliciano reached up to give their grandfather an exaggerated pat on the shoulder.

“It’s okay, Grandpa. Maybe, if Lovi and I work together, we could give you a piggyback instead!”

“How about we do not,” Lovino said, giving his brother a narrow look.

Feliciano pursed his lips. “Grandpa can't be that heavy. I'm sure we'll manage.”

“That's not—” Lovino sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Romulus laughed, shaking his head as his grandsons bickered. He turned back to Lovino’s painting, picking it up with careful fingers. While he did not necessarily understand his grandson’s paintings all the time (and he sometimes missed the days of Lovino stealthily trying to sketch him or his brother), he really did enjoy filling up the walls with them. The same counted for Feliciano’s photography, albums full of slightly askew or blurry pictures filling the bookcase downstairs.

“I think,” he said loudly, cutting off the brewing argument easily, “I'm going to replace that old Da Vinci replica with this.”

Lovino flushed. “You don't have t—”

“Oh, that would be wonderful, Grandpa!” Feliciano exclaimed, clapping his hands excitedly. “I think it’s far more expressive!”

They didn’t even wait for Lovino to form a proper argument against it, both thumping down the stairs, chattering about dinner. Lovino followed them quietly, still very red, and watched as Feliciano jumped on the table to take down the paining that had hung there since before Lovino had been born.

He looked at his grandfather, who appraised Lovino’s work again with a firm nod and that same proud spark in his eyes, and then at Feliciano, who was smiling so widely it must’ve hurt. Lovino buried his face in his hands, shaking his head as his grandfather wrapped an arm around his shoulder and jostled him with a booming laugh.

“This is so fucking embarrassing.”

“That’s the Vargas way of life, my boy.” Romulus pressed a kiss to his forehead before ruffling his hair.

Lovino sighed, but surrendered finally. He kissed his grandfather’s cheek, squeezed Feliciano’s, much to his younger brother’s whining, and said, “Thanks, I guess. And love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic spans from the end of Lovino’s junior year (the first seven chapters), and then kind of glosses through the entirety of his senior year (the other seven chapters), though nothing really happens between Antonio and Lovino until he’s of age.
> 
> It is also a fulfilment of “Lovino has a loving and supporting if maybe a little overbearing family” because sometimes you need that in life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terrible attempts at teenagers texting have been made. I apologize.

Lovino didn’t know what he had expected from his junior year, but he had hoped he would be granted a break from the pattern. From the constant onslaught of schoolwork, from his thoughts piling up, from his emotions constantly swirling, from fucking puberty, but no. At the end of the year, seventeen years old, Lovino was still in the midst of that, his only release being his art, though even then he seemed to struggle with staying inspired.

He stared across the pond, watching the droplets from the fountain glisten in the sunlight before they hit the water in small bursts. It was pretty, but conventional, so very typical, not something he really wanted to capture.

Lovino didn’t know what to draw, what to paint, what to do. Everything felt the same, and even his experimental drip paintings weren’t cutting it anymore.

He wanted _something_ ; he just couldn’t figure out what.

Glancing away from the water, his eyes landed on the phone in his lap, still opened on the text conversation he had been having with Emma for the past ten minutes, and had been contemplating his answer to for the past five.

She was planning a party and managed to trick some seniors and recent graduates into coming, the entrance fee being alcohol or other illicit substances. Now, her attentions had turned to convincing Lovino to come.

**Emma Peeters**  
**> >please please please!!!!**  
** >>youre such a FUN drunk lovi!!!**

**Lovino Vargas  
<<How is that supposed to convince me?**

**Emma  
>>Lovi blease :** **’(**

**Lovino  
<<Wow I** **’m moved**

**Emma**  
**> >you can leave the sass at HOME lovi**  
** >>your BEST friend is in NEED and this is how you act**  
** >>rude much >:(**

Lovino rolled his eyes. Best friend or not, Emma really knew how to be both overly dramatic and be completely useless at achieving what she set out to do.

**Lovino  
<<Why are we friends if you don** **’t love it**  
**< <And no, I’m not coming**

**Emma**  
**> >looooooooooovi**  
** >>i need moral support :(**

**Lovino  
<<** **…Why?**

**Emma**  
**> >WELL**  
** >>gilby is coming, therefore roddy is coming, therefore ERZSI is coming**  
** >>I need you there lovi my heart cant handle her alone**

**Lovino  
<<That's just sad Em**

**Emma  
>>please lovi!!! she** **’s so cute!!**

Lovino sighed. He could just imagine Emma’s pout. Honestly, he probably should go, especially knowing the jittery mess Emma devolved into whenever Erzsébet Héderváry glanced her way. Plus, it was fun to watch her make a fool of herself in front of her crush.

**Lovino  
<<Yeah yeah all right**

**Emma**  
**> >!!!!!!!**  
** >>youre the best lovi!!!!!**  
** >>come early and help with setting up???**  
** >>you can ditch your stuff in my room for safety!!!**

Beside the fact that she had probably already accounted for him since the beginning, he liked to pretend he had stood a chance at refusal, if only because he did have Mass the next morning. That was going to be a little bit of a bitch.

**Lovino  
<<Sure**

**Emma**  
**> >yay!!!**  
** >>oh and lovi???**

**Lovino  
<<Yeah?**

**Emma  
>>maybe we** **’ll find you someone cute too ;)))**

**Lovino  
<<Oh my god fuck off Emma**

He scowled, eyes returning to the pond, yet not really seeing it this time. Finding cute someones was one step, but then actually talking to them, starting a relationship, to instill your trust in someone like that… Frankly, it terrified him.

Not that he hadn’t dated before, but all the attempts had stopped before they had even really started. Lovino just couldn’t allow himself to trust people so easily.

He rubbed his arms and stood up, wanting to distract himself from all the others reasons why love wasn’t meant for him.

The sunlight created little glittering diamonds on the surface of the water, and Lovino focused his attention on that. His fingers itched; he needed to draw something—anything at all, as to keep far, far away from those meaningless thoughts. Because that was what they were: baseless. He knew his family loved him, he had friends who cared for him, he had no reason to think less of himself, but it was such a hard habit to break.

Breathing deeply, Lovino kept his eyes on the water, trying to divert his mind from those depressive thoughts, but eventually didn’t have to try all that hard as something was seemingly thrown into the water with a loud _plop_ , and something else whirled past him into the pond, sending a wave of dirty water over the edge, soaking Lovino’s Vans.

Lovino stared at his shoes, now more a checkered murky brown, then looked up, scowled at whatever had caused this, paused when the whatever turned out to be a whoever. Because, despite his soggy socks and his mind’s inability to catch up to the current situation, he could very much appreciate the very attractive young man sitting in the water.

Water droplets dripped off the tips of his curly hair and clung his lashes, rivets rolling down his handsome, somewhat chubby face, over a bright, white, _Hollywood_ smile. Though, it were his eyes that truly caught Lovino’s, an electric green that appeared to shine brighter than the sun.

Lovino reached for his bag as if in a trance, and sat down in the grass, finding his sketchbook and any shitty pencil he could find. He started on a rough outline: the position of the sun, the ugly-ass fountain behind the man, the way he sat, positioned toward Lovino, smiling toward Lovino, meeting Lovino’s eyes ever so curiously—

Sometimes, Lovino could be impressed with his own body’s ability to perform conflicting actions because, while he could feel the blood drain from his face, it returned tenfold not a second later, warming his face all the way to the tips of his ears.

He curled into himself a little more, casting his eyes down to his sketch, bashfully fixing the lines and hoping to be swallowed whole by the soggy grass.

“Antonio!”

Lovino peeked over the top of his sketch, watched as the man’s head swivelled to his left and—oh. He looked good in profile as well.

“Found it!” Antonio yelled, brandishing a bright red Converse in the air as if he’d just found the Holy Grail.

“Toni, by God, it was a figure of speech!” And Lovino recognized that voice as Gilbert Beilschmidt’s, which meant that the other was most likely Francis Bonnefoy.

Peachy fucking keen.

Blond and Bleached joined him on the bank, both seeming incredibly exasperated.

Antonio shrugged and stood slowly, water cascading down his shirt and dripping from his shorts, and Lovino had to force himself to look back down to his sketch, to trace his lines softly as to distract himself from the way everything clung to Antonio just _so_.

He dared a quick peek a little later, then regretted it immediately as Antonio squelched his way unto land, just a couple of feet away, looking down at Lovino, smiling so wonderfully, and— _oh, dear God, please don_ _’t talk to me, don’t ask me what I’m doing; I will die of mortification, please have mercy._

A shout broke the silence for them, and everyone on the bank turned toward the noise, finding two police officers walking in their direction, frowning and pointing.

Lovino turned to Antonio, found his bright eyes, so amused, still trained on him. Francis said Antonio’s name; Antonio ignored him. Lovino scowled.

Antonio opened his mouth, and Lovino feared for his life, but then Gilbert, for a change, came to his rescue by taking Antonio’s arm and dragging him away. Not easily defeated, Antonio still found Lovino’s eyes and flashed him a quick, almost apologetic smile before sprinting after his friends.

The police officers shouted and reluctantly initiated a chase.

Lovino watched them turn the corner, then turned back to the pond, ran a hand over his face tiredly. Taking a moment to breathe away his anxiety, Lovino became increasingly aware of his soaked jeans and shivered.

The water still glistened in the light, but it had lost its appeal now.

He slowly got to his feet and tossed his sketchbook back in his bag, slinging it across his shoulder after. Just as he moved to leave, the shouting reappeared.

The three idiots vaulted over a bush, jumped the flowerbed fence and ran by Lovino. Beilschmidt had the air to laugh raucously while Bonnefoy looked as if he was running for a track modelling campaign. Antonio was grinning so widely is must have hurt, but then he looked in Lovino’s direction, must have seen the slightly dumb-founded look on Lovino’s face, and winked. _Winked_ like some effortless movie hero Alfred always droned on about.

Lovino almost dropped his bag as he stared after them, wondering not for the first time if his life was a real experience he was living.

He slinked away after one of the agents shot him a suspicious glance, as if he had anything to do with those three morons. Not beyond, ‘no, I don’t know them, but I did draw the one that jumped into the pond because he looked really cute,’ and there was no way in hell he would ever utter those words to another living soul.

When he arrived home, his grandfather and Feliciano were still out, so he quickly dashed up the stairs to his bedroom. Dropping his bag on the bed, and himself to the floor, he began to search underneath the bed. The amount of crud he found—old socks, canvasses, a tie, broken paintbrushes, so many tubes and boxes of old paint, some really old CD cases, until finally his hand bumped against the old box of pastels he had shoved there a long time ago—was astounding.

Pulling his sketchbook from his bag, he settled on the floor and flipped back to the drawing.

He needed to add colour to Antonio now, before he forgot the vividness of it all, the vividness of Antonio.

And perhaps he should have just used pencils, as he hadn’t touched pastels since early middle school, but the bright colours were a necessity, and he felt that pencils wouldn’t do Antonio justice.

He practised first on a blank piece of paper and, once he falls back into familiar motions, moves on to his sketch.

The set was rather basic as it had been bought to indulge Lovino in another one of his experiments, but Lovino made due. The water and glinting sun were a nice challenge to capture. Antonio’s hair, like dark chocolate, so wild and messy, took a long time, and Lovino had to get up and turn on the lights to finish the remainder of him. White teeth, bronze skin, long lashes, red shirt, but Lovino had to pause for the eyes. They had been so bright, so green, so much more than Lovino could ever attempt capture.

Lovino pursed his lips as he bent over the paper, wondering if he was losing his mind, if only slightly. Spouting poetry about some stranger like Feliciano tended to seemed like a good indicator.

After he was semi-satisfied, he retrieved a can of hair spray from the bathroom. Giving his own hair a quick fix as he passed the mirror, he settled back on the floor and aimed the can at his sketchbook. Clamping his hand over his mouth, he blasted the page as if it had done him personal harm.

Once a good coating saved Antonio’s pretty face from smudging, Lovino sat back and gave his work a critical look. Yes, it definitely wasn’t perfect—nothing ever was—and you could definitely see he hadn’t touched pastels in years, but it wasn’t awful either, though the longer he looked at it, the more he felt he hadn’t used quite the right colours.

Checking his phone, Lovino was met with a handful of texts from Emma that he had missed while lost in concentration, detailing the exact date and time of the party followed by a bunch of emojis and Emma’s insistence he should come early morning because they had things to _do_ , which were always slightly worrisome texts to receive from Emma and definitely involved making a scene at a grocery store at some point during the day.

Returning a simple, ‘sure’, Lovino figured he would wheedle a free lunch from her in return.

Now all he had to do however, was convince his grandfather that Lovino could totally handle Mass the next day.

He left his sketchbook open to let the hair spray set, though he did put it on his desk because it had happened before he had forgotten about whatever project he’d been working on and stepped on it as he stumbled through the dark. It would be such a waste of his hard work (not to mention of Antonio’s good looks, but he quickly derailed that thought).

His grandfather was seated on the couch, flipping through the newspaper, reading glasses perched on his nose. He glanced up as Lovino stumbled down the stairs, catching himself on the banister as he slipped.

“Ah, so you were home after all; you didn’t answer when I called,” Romulus said, lowering the paper. “So, what have you been up to in that art studio of yours?” His eyes glinted in amusement at the joke, a smile curling around his lips.

“Just drawing.” Lovino draped himself across the couch, hoping that if he acted dismissive, maybe, just maybe, his grandfather would drop the subject quickly.

Romulus eyed Lovino’s pastel-smeared hands curiously. “Drawing?”

“With pastels.” After his grandfather gave him a blank stare, he added, “You know, those ‘crayons’ you gave me for my thirteenth birthday.”

Romulus’ eyes lit up in recognition. “I see.” He paused, glancing down at his newspaper. “And when will I see this crayon drawing?”

Lovino had expected the question, of course he had, but his stomach still squeezed uncomfortably. Normally, he really wouldn’t mind his grandfather nosing through his drawings, especially because he was nothing but supportive, but this was about a million times more awkward. Coming out had been an embarrassing enough affair for Lovino to go through, and to let his grandfather know that cute boys were actually occupying Lovino’s sketchbook had to lead to Lovino’s early demise through embarrassment. He would never hear the end of it.

He curled in on himself a little and hoped to God his face wasn’t as red as it actually felt. “Never. It was just a test.”

Romulus hummed and folded the paper, eyeing Lovino seriously. “You know I love to see any of your art, Lovino.”

Lovino sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “I know, Grandpa.”

Feliciano bounced into the room then, coming from the kitchen. He took a bite from the apple he was holding and dropped down where Lovino’s legs had been a second ago. Ignoring the glare Lovino sent his way, Feliciano giggled as Lovino poked his toe against his side and asked, “What’d you draw, Lovi?”

Why? What had he done to get such a loving and supportive family that actually _cared_ about him and his art?

Lovino waved vaguely. “Just stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Feliciano gave him that wide-eyed look of innocence, which was really his wide-eyed look of the fucking devil. It never meant good news for Lovino. “You went to the park, right? There must have been something pretty there; there always is, like the fountain or the trees or the flower beds or the people?”

Green, green eyes set in a cute face danced through his mind and he swallowed. Yeah, something pretty from the park, all right.

Lovino could feel the heat creep up his neck and heat his ears. “Nothing at all, Feli.”

Feliciano pursed his lips, slouching against the pillows, finishing his apple quietly. He watched Lovino for a long moment.

“Really,” he said in that way that meant he totally did not believe Lovino. “Certainly there must have been something. Something or, maybe, someone?”

Little _shit_.

Lovino scowled at him, but didn’t reply. There was not a single answer out there that wouldn’t incriminate him. By the looks he was getting from both his brother and grandfather, his body had betrayed enough as it was.

Deciding that a change of topic was now an absolute necessity, Lovino swung his legs off the couch, kicking Feliciano on the way there for being annoying, and scooted to the edge. “Um, Grandpa?”

Romulus raised an eyebrow. It was in that manner that said that Romulus knew exactly what kind of question Lovino was going to ask. “Yes?”

Lovino stared at his socks for a long moment before meeting his grandfather’s eye. “Next Saturday, can I stay over at Emma’s?”

Romulus leaned back in his chair, giving his grandson a calculating one over. “What’s the occasion?”

Tugging at the creases in his pants, Lovino forced a scowl because he knew what his grandfather was asking, but didn’t want to answer. “Since when do I need an occasion to stay over at my best friend’s?”

His grandfather shook his head, tapping the newspaper. “Just you and Emma?”

Lovino pursed his lips. His grandfather didn’t mean it in the ‘a boy and a girl shouldn’t stay over with just the two of them’ way because, well, he knew Lovino’s disposition, but he meant it in the ‘I know exactly what you’re up to, so stop lying to me’  manner, which was just peachy. Fucking hell.

“Maybe there will be some more people,” Lovino conceded. “Just a handful. Nothing big.” See, not lying. Just… conveniently leaving out the finer details.

“Like a party.” That was not a question.

Lovino swallowed, smiling hopefully. “Yeah. A little. Just some friends of Emma.” And friends of their friends, and perhaps some friends of those too if word had really gotten out.

Romulus took his time to mull that over, and Lovino almost feared the worst, but then his grandfather picked up the newspaper again and said, “Okay. You’re a teenager doing teenage things.” He gave Lovino one last long look from over the top of his newspaper. “Do be careful and responsible, all right? Take care of yourself.”

Lovino stared at his grandfather, nodding slowly. Really, that was sugar talk for ‘I know exactly what will happen at that party, but I trust you and your judgement, so for this once, I’ll let you go.’

“Of course. Thanks, Grandpa,” he said, curling back up against the couch cushions.

Romulus nodded once, then returned his attention to the newspaper, officially ending the discussion.

Feliciano had watched silently, for a change, and leaned his head against Lovino’s shoulder when the opportunity arose. Lovino allowed himself to relax, believing everything successfully evaded and achieved, but naturally, he shouldn’t have expected for Feliciano to ever not be the evil little demon he was.

“You totally saw someone pretty today.”

Oh. My. God.

“Will you drop that already,” Lovino hissed, glancing warily at their grandfather, not wanting to draw his attention again.

“Then what’d you draw? You don’t blush from drawing flower beds, Lovino,” Feliciano said cheekily.

“Fuck off, Feli,” Lovino answered.

“Come now, Lovi.” And there was that damned all-knowing smile. “Who is it? He has to be _really_ cute if he gets you this flustered without even being in the same room. Do I know him? How did you meet? Have you gone on a date yet?”

“Oh, my God, Feli.” Lovino stared steadfastly toward the wall, noting the chipped paint with great interest. “There is no one. Leave me alone.”

“Ah, no need to be shy, Lovi!” Feliciano had a knack for sounding maliciously devious if he really wanted to tease his brother. “I promise I won’t tell anyone about your secret love affair.”

Lovino was seriously considering throttling his little brother at that point, but it was their grandfather that saved the youngest Vargas from an untimely demise.

“Feliciano, leave your brother alone.” He hadn’t even glanced up from the newspaper, though he did nod his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Why don’t you start on dinner? You said you wanted to test this new recipe, right?”

Feliciano pouted, but stood anyway, vanishing beyond the doors of the kitchen. Lovino sagged in relief, but was once more subjected to his grandfather’s gaze and he looked away, rubbing his cheek.

“Lovino,” Romulus started, then hesitated. “There’s no need to hide anything from us. You know that, right?”

Lovino frowned, more confused about what his grandfather could possibly mean now than anything else. “Hide what?”

“Well, you know.” Romulus waved a hand, looking a little lost. “Boyfriends and such.”

Oh, dear God, no.

Lovino stared at him, could feel his face practically light on fire, and jumped to his feet. “No. No, we’re not doing this again. I’ve suffered enough.”

“Now, Lovino—”

“Nope! For the love of God, Grandpa, don’t even.” Lovino waved his arms in attempt to physically cut off his grandfather’s argument. “There are no boys, and definitely no boyfriends! And if I ever did get one, I wouldn’t fucking hide him from you.”

His grandfather stared at him, opening and closing his mouth. When he finally found his voice, he said, “Okay, good. Good.” He attempted to search for another adjective, but nothing appeared to come to mind as he repeated, “That’s good.”

Lovino breathed out heavily and stalked to the kitchen, kicking open the door and slumping over the counter in silent defeat. He didn’t know whether he felt faint or close to exploding with the amount of blood pooling in his cheeks.

Feliciano patted him on the back, giggling, and the fucker was so very lucky that Lovino felt like laughing too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is ill-advised to take anything distributed from ponds, yet the cute Spanish boy might be an exception. 
> 
> Also thank you so much for the comments!!! I appreciate them all so much!!!!! 
> 
> I wish you all a happy new year!! May 2019 be kind on us all!!


	3. Chapter 3

Lovino was honestly trying to stay awake during class. He really, really tried, but after his math teacher droned on about Heaven knew what, he felt as if he was being tried by the man Himself.

Instead, he doodled in the margins of his book, occasionally glancing up in the pretence of attention, thankful the teacher focused her attention on others for a change.

Herakles snoozed next to him, head on his arms, face obscured by curls. The teachers never appeared to notice when Herakles dozed off because somehow he would answer questions just fine, as if he hadn’t been unconscious for the better part of class. How, Lovino wasn’t sure, but damn if he wasn’t jealous.

In one of his bouts of staring blankly at the white board, listening but not really listening to the teacher, his eyes strayed to the window, wondering what he would draw that night. He was still stuck on green, but the trees visible from the window could not even begin to compare to the vividness of Antonio’s eyes.

They just didn’t feel alive.

He blinked from his stupor at the sound of the bell and the rustling of his classmates packing their bags. He elbowed Herakles, who snorted and sat up slowly, and started shoving his stuff into his bag. Herakles followed suit after regaining a grasp on reality.

“What was class about?” he asked after they had left the classroom.

Lovino gave him a narrow look as they slinked past some excitable sophomores. “Dunno. Triangles or some shit.”

Herakles nodded slowly, eyes faraway. Always faraway. If Lovino hadn’t met up with him before school started, he might have thought his best friend to be as high as a kite. Except Herakles didn’t smoke on school days, so really it was just Herakles being Herakles.

Lovino almost preferred high Herakles over sober Herakles, mostly because the former didn’t try to educate you on ancient civilizations and their philosophers all the time.

They stopped at Lovino’s locker. Herakles settled against the neighbouring ones, staring at the prom banner, yet probably not even seeing it. Lovino threw his math books inside rather violently, pushing back against the mass of loose papers.

“Are you going to Emma’s party?” Herakles asked, seemingly out of nowhere, though Herakles was difficult to read at the best of times. He had turned his head slightly and watched as Lovino dislodged his economy book from the clutter.

Lovino glanced back at Herakles, but his answer was cut off by his locker spewing out part of its contents. He cursed and pushed his economy book in Herakles’ hands. As he knelt to retrieve papers and books to haphazardly push them back into his locker to be dealt with another time (i.e. never), he spoke, “Yes, of course. You?”

Herakles thoughtfully played with the edges of Lovino’s book. “Probably. I haven’t smoked in a while, so it would be nice to bum some off of Daan.”

Lovino rolled his eyes, focusing momentarily on closing his locker without everything spilling out again. He snatched his book back from Herakles and turned on his heel. “Is that all you ever think about?”

Herakles followed, almost passing his own locker if Lovino hadn’t stopped and kicked him in the shins.

“No,” he said as he messed with his lock. Lovino sighed by the fourth time and swatted his hands away, Herakles watching mutely as Lovino did it for him. “I think about lots of things all the time. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about metempsychosis.”

“Metem—” Lovino mumbled the term to himself, touching his hand to his forehead briefly and interrupting Herakles where he had begun to explain. “Doesn’t matter.”

Herakles frowned, but rummaged through his locker for his geography book. Lovino stopped paying attention as Herakles began to clear out some of the notes someone had been consistently sliding into his locker.

After a long pause, Herakles continued his earlier train of thought. “Are you going because your being a good friend to Emma, or because you actually want to go?”

Lovino pursed his lips, not moving after Herakles closed his locker. He waited until Herakles had moved back and forth between the trash bin to ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it means?” Herakles scratched his head. “You don’t enjoy parties. You dislike being around too many people, especially if they’re also people you don’t know. Plus, you’re an awful drunk whenever wine is involved.”

Lovino scoffed. Just because he had had one hell of a time with Tino and Alfred last year didn’t mean he made it his usual routine to get blackout drunk. That had been a one time thing due to unusual circumstances.

“Whatever. So I go because Emma sucks at being a flirt. Big deal.” He added, muttering, “Besides, someone has to keep an eye on her. You know how jittery she gets when she has a crush on anyone.”

“Ah.” Herakles glanced around the deserted hallways, lowering his voice accordingly still. “Should we talk to Héderváry at some point?”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know.” Herakles shuffled his feet. “She’s going to graduate this year. It would suck if it just quit at that, wouldn’t it?”

“Since when are you such a romantic?” Lovino shook his head. “It’s really none of our business. If Emma wants our help, she’ll ask, but otherwise.” He shrugged. “She’ll have to figure out this shit herself.”

“I guess.” Herakles nodded slowly. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Don’t you want to have fun?”

“Are you saying that watching Emma make a fool of herself isn’t entertaining? Or is this you asking me to join your drug club downstairs?”

Herakles thought it over. “Yes?”

Lovino snorted and began to walk toward the canteen, Herakles meandering behind him.

It was bustling, as it always was, but the found their little corner deserted and settled on the ground. Lovino had brought lunch for the both of them because his grandmother had asked him to and Lovino had no qualms with feeding his childhood friend, even if he was a bit of an idiot sometimes. He handed Herakles a fork and balanced the container on his leg.

“I have no interest in getting high,” Lovino said, stabbing at the pasta. “I have Mass the next morning and, while I can get away with a hangover, grandpa will have my balls for smoking.”

Herakles hummed. “Remember to set your alarm before you pass out like you did last time. And try not to trip over me either.”

“Don’t fall asleep in front of the bathroom then.” Lovino jabbed him with his elbow.

There was a lull as they ate quietly, Herakles praising Lovino’s cooking softly.

“Seriously, though,” Herakles began again after some time. “If you feel like having a breather, either come join me downstairs or drag me outside with you or whatever. I know you don’t like being alone.”

Lovino smiled. “Yeah, sure. Thanks. If you need someone to escort you to the bathroom, don’t ask Jones.”

Herakles laughed. “Oh, God, please intervene to prevent that from happening again. I really thought Emma was going to kill us.”

“Promise.” Lovino hooked his pinky with Herakles’ shortly, grinning as Herakles actually deflated in relief at the certainty.

They startled as Emma dropped her bag on the floor in front of them, herself following with a heavy sigh. Lovino didn’t even flinch when she manoeuvred the fork from his fingers and stole the container of his leg, shoving it inside with a viciousness that would have been worrying had they not known her for years already.

Still, Lovino couldn’t help but tease. “So charming, Emma.”

“I’ll sweep all the girls of their feet,” Emma agreed through a mouthful. “Oh, this is heavenly, Lovi. Please marry me.”

Lovino winked. “You tell me when and where. I’ll likely show up.”

“Likely!” She threw her head back as she laughed. “As likely as you’ll show up to my party?”

“Obviously.”

Emma grinned, holding out the container of pasta to Herakles. “What about you, Hera?”

“Marry you or the party?”

“I mean…”

“No and yes.”

“Aw! You don’t want to marry me?” Emma pouted, ignoring Lovino’s attempt to reclaim his fork.

“Because I know it’s just an elaborate plan to steal the kittens from me in the divorce,” Herakles grouched. “I see through your tricks, Em.”

Emma gasped. “Oh, no! My devious master plan!”

Lovino snorted, tuning out of their cat chatter. As cute as Herakles’ kittens were, they weren’t quite what Lovino wanted to think about then, especially as his mind wandered back toward something else cute.

He really needed to get that colour right, that vivid green, but he doubted he would just run into Antonio again. He wasn’t sure whether he could even handle that. He could still hear the question that must have been on the tip of the other’s tongue: _were you drawing me?_ God, he must have seemed such a creep.

Between Herakles and Emma, he supposed Emma’s came closest, though they appeared to miss that particular spark that had captured Lovino then.

He blinked when Emma said his name, amusement clear in her tone.

“You’re staring, Lovi,” she said, grinning. “Don’t tell me you want to make true on marrying me?”

Lovino scoffed, brushing his hair aside to give her a look. “Oh, absolutely. Though I must first know if you’ve realized your undying love for me otherwise this simply cannot stand.”

“Ah.” She sighed dramatically. “I must disappoint you. I’m still very much a lesbian.”

Herakles snorted as Lovino rolled his eyes.

“But really, Lovino,” she continued. “What’s up?”

“Nothing? I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

Lovino let out a long breath of air. He had no idea how to even word his thoughts. How could he possibly explain what had happened that day with Antonio because nothing _had_ happened. Not really. It had been some freak incident, and now Lovino had a sketch of a cute boy in his sketchbook, brain constantly circling back to green like he was Gatsby on the shore.

“Um,” he began, then had no clue how to continue.

Emma and Herakles watched with barely contained interest. Emma was the first to catch on to the blush slowly creeping from Lovino’s cheeks to his ears and neck, swallowing him slowly in embarrassment.

“ _Lovi_ ,” she sang, creeping forward. “You _like_ someone.”

Lovino sputtered. “I!”

“You!” Emma scooted closer still. “Who?”

“You don’t know him.” He sincerely hoped.

“But you do?”

“Not really.”

Emma patted his knee comfortingly. “That’s okay, sweetie. What’s he look like?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.” Lovino wasn’t about to indulge Emma in this. It was bad enough _he_ was caught up on it.

“I bet it has to do with green,” Herakles said thoughtfully.

Emma watched as Lovino turned impossibly red. She echoed, “Green? Why?”

Herakles shrugged. “I just noticed he was staring a lot at green stuff. Trees, the grass, Mrs. Nots’ green sweater, our eyes just now. Doodled all over mine and his own notebooks with a green marker too.”

Emma made a thoughtful noise. “Weird.” She glanced at where Lovino was hiding his face in his hands. “It’s kinda cute.”

“Please shut up,” Lovino whined. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Ah, but Lovino, _I_ do!”

Lovino kicked her. It didn’t quite work from this angle and Emma laughed.

“Don’t you want to know, Herakles?” Emma continued. “Should I start singing about ‘Summer Nights’?” She leaned on her hands, batting her lashes as she sang, “ _Tell me more, tell me more_. _Was it love at first sight_?”

Lovino lunged for her, though Emma was much quicker, shooting up and away from him. He felt as if there couldn’t possibly be any more blood in his face at this point.

Emma wafted herself in mock swooning. “My, Herakles, our little Lovi might have finally found his Romeo.”

“That is _so_ gross, Emma,” Lovino hissed.

Herakles swallowed the last bit of pasta and added, “His Odysseus. Come all the way back for his Penelope.”

“Like Hades fell for Persephone.”

“Oh my God.” Lovino didn’t know at whom he despaired more. “You two are the _worst._ ”

Emma grinned, and Lovino knew that she undoubtedly deserved all his wrath when she said, “His Edward.”

Lovino jumped to his feet as Emma had already made it halfway across the canteen toward the doors. He skidded around the corner in the hallway as Emma ran for her life. He was going to throttle her as slowly and painfully as possible when he got his hands on her.

Herakles caught up to them just as the first warning bell rang, pressing Lovino’s bag into his hands as Lovino promised a gruesome death to Emma the next time he saw her. She answered it by blowing him a kiss, then looped her arm through Herakles’ as they shared geography together.

Just before they turned the corner, she paused and called back, “Right. I forgot you were Team Jacob, sweetheart.”

She was so very lucky Lovino had been caught by the current of students moving toward their classes. He lifted his bag to his shoulder, bristling all the way to economy where Matthew could raise his eyebrows at Lovino’s violent treatment of his belongings as he thrust them onto their shared table.

“I swear,” Lovino grumbled, “Emma is going to be the death of me.”

Matthew laughed. “Of us all.”

“If I don’t get to her first.”

“Ominous.” Matthew eyed the teacher quickly. “Me and Al will be going to the batting range this afternoon. Want to come?”

“Fucking yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovino might be an awkward noodle but that doesn’t make him friendless. 
> 
> So many outdated references in this,,,,, I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> I hope you guys are still around for this!! It’s slow progress, but I am still writing for this!


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